


Fan This Spark Into a Flame

by dlemur



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Banter, Beer, Cuddling & Snuggling, Epistolary, Hurry slowly, Intercrural Sex, Lafayette kisses everyone because that's just how he is, M/M, Mulligan is not kidding about the in loco parentis thing, Steal a cannon touch a dick, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dlemur/pseuds/dlemur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everything that Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens were up to during the war made it into their letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fan This Spark Into a Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everystarfall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everystarfall/gifts).



**NEW YORK, N.Y. (November 30, 2015) -- The Columbia University Archives announced today that it has acquired a newly discovered collection of the letters of Alexander Hamilton: founding father, first Secretary of the Treasury, and Columbia alumnus. The letters, to and from Hamilton, were found in a house in Long Branch, New Jersey, as brickwork was being repaired. The house is presumed to be the one in which John Church Hamilton, son and biographer of his father, died in 1882.**

*****

_To John Laurens, August 19, 1776_

_My Dear Laurens, I hope that you will soon be able to return from your excursion to Connecticut, for we need every man possible here in New York, and beyond that, I miss you most heartily. We have kept busy in your absence, but that has not assuaged my longing for your company in the least. Yesterday evening Mr. Mason and I wrote a letter to the General detailing our thoughts on the need to abandon the defense of Long Island in order to properly defend the island of Manhattan, but we fear our suggestions will go unheeded. Mulligan will convey our letter to his aides today, and we will hope for the best._

_The town waits and watches, even as its population dwindles. Though you've been gone but a few days, your compatriots miss you and wish you well. Mulligan continues with the tailoring he has to do, though there are precious few requests for his services with the city evacuated. He asks me to pass on his affections, and notes that he trusts I will be less restless once you return. I suspect he will be correct, so please return with all haste to those who hold you in affection._

_A. Hamilton_

*****

Laurens loitered outside Fraunces Tavern. There had been no one home at the Mulligan house, down the street, an unusual occurrence. The Tavern itself was nearly empty. It was hot, and the air was still, but that was fine. John Laurens had grown up in the steaming Carolina summers, and despite some years spent in the damp of London, he still adjusted to heat easily. Given enough time, some of Laurens' compatriots would surely happen by, and so he waited, leaning on the fence at the street corner. Before long he saw two familiar figures walking up the street from the Battery. The thinner one had Hamilton's purposeful stride, the broad-shouldered one had the boxer's gait Mulligan tended towards. Though his heart leapt at seeing his friends, Laurens remained leaning against the fence with studied nonchalance. 

His act lasted until Hamilton caught sight of him. "Laurens! You've returned!" The young captain's steps quickened, until he caught Laurens' arms for a combined handclasp and embrace. Mulligan hustled up behind Hamilton, also smiling and offering an embrace. 

"Just this morning. I take it you haven't destroyed the town in my absence, Alexander?" 

"Not for lack of trying," Mulligan said, pretending to box Hamilton's ear. Hamilton shoved him away, trying to stop grinning and failing. 

"We have much to talk about," Hamilton said, steering them both into the tavern. "Exciting things are planned for tonight." Once inside, he zipped toward their usual table like a bee to its hive. 

"Has he driven you insane yet?" Laurens muttered to Mulligan as they followed behind. "I have missed you both, but I fear it was cruel to leave you to his boundless energy, especially with Lafayette in Philadelphia." 

"What we have in mind will harness it," Mulligan replied. 

*****

Nightfall found them with Hamilton's militia company, lurking in the weeds just off the Battery, watching the ships offshore and nervously hoisting their muskets and coils of heavy rope to their shoulders. The _HMS Asia_ was a sixty-four-gun hulk well out in the growing dark of the harbor, sails furled. Nearer to shore, a barge patrolled the water. Two dozen cannons sat on the Battery ground, becoming black in the fading light, with no sign of a sentry on shore. 

Hamilton was full of silent furor, first learning in to whisper with his men, then watching the sentry barge through a spying glass, then quizzing another group of men to make sure they knew the plan. For all their commander's excitement, the rest of the men seemed relaxed, prepared, calmly eager for action. Laurens had to hand it to Hamilton: the man knew how to inspire competence in others. Mulligan sat on a boulder, serenely whittling away at a piece of wood. Laurens envied his relaxed manner. Mulligan and Hamilton had scouted the Battery over the past few days, hopeful that there would be an opportunity to steal artillery pieces under cover of night. They had examined the terrain and mapped the safest route to get the pieces to Captain Lamb's men at City Hall Park. Dragging large artillery pieces over a mile with no torches would be an exercise in stumbling. 

Finally, Hamilton went among the men, urging them forward, and they began to trickle quietly across the edges of the Battery grounds to the artillery. The movements of a hundred militiamen were not silent, but they blended in well with the lapping of waves, the creaking of the piers, and the rustling of grass in the hot August wind. The darkness of a new moon disguised all but the largest movements. Working by feel, ropes were thrown around the axletrees of the carriages, or threaded through iron loops on the carriage frames. As Laurens helped a group find the train tackle loop on the back of a canon and begin to thread rope, he could hear Hamilton checking the hitches of the first group and ordering them to head away north. "That's it. Slowly. Pull evenly, or you'll pull it into a ditch and break an axle. Collins, come around the back and push it along, you'll be able to steer it a bit. Festina lente!" Then he sent them off, with a quiet slap on the carriage, and turned to the next group. 

"Trust Hamilton to give orders in Latin while hauling artillery," Mulligan muttered in Laurens' ear, and Laurens snorted with amusement as he turned to the next rope. 

Laurens had lost count of how many cannons had left the yard when the crack of muskets erupted from the sentry barge. He and Mulligan ducked behind the nearest cannon as they heard Hamilton shouting, "Return fire! Return fire!" 

A flurry of musket shots came from the militiamen, and there was a cry from the barge. "Finish tying ropes and go! Go!" Hamilton yelled, dashed through the ranks of remaining cannons, dismissing groups as he went. The militiamen closest to shore were still firing from behind a few remaining cannons, and he joined them to return fire. 

Laurens felt Mulligan tug at his elbow. They found the ropes attached to their piece, and began hauling on them. The cannon began to roll behind them, creakily. Then, as the boom of cannons began to crack from across the harbor, it sounded as if the heavens themselves had opened up. The _Asia_ had sailed closer to the Battery and was firing on the cannon grounds.

Laurens resisted the urge to flatten himself to the earth and kept pulling on the cannon, but it was difficult not to cringe when a ball whistled by overhead. Mulligan kept hauling on his rope, and the cannon bounced along. 

Suddenly Hamilton was trotting at their side, his musket in his hands, as upright and purposeful as if he were hurrying to church on Sunday morning. "Here," he gasped to Mulligan, "Take my piece, I'll take this one." He thrust the gun at Mulligan, who passed him the rope without question. Hamilton fell into place by Laurens, and the cannon rolled faster. "Tell the last men to go, we've got most of the cannons!" Hamilton yelled to Mulligan, and kept pulling. 

They made their way north, away from the sound of cannonade and toward the sound of other cannon carriages rumbling. Hamilton continued to move smoothly and swiftly, behaving as if the artillery fire wasn't there, and Laurens felt his exhilaration and admiration for his friend grow, even as he winced at each shot booming over their heads. 

At City Hall Park, the men were pulling cannons up under the Liberty Pole and tying them close together. A few were already standing guard around the perimeter, more to protect against the possibility of a Loyalist mob than with any expectation that that British troops would be on the march this night. Hamilton made his way among the men, checking work, shaking hands and clapping shoulders. 

*****

The rest of the night blurred in Laurens' head. Hamilton went back to fetch Mulligan and the muskets. Laurens busied himself by rounding up men to help Fraunces patch a cannonball hole in the roof of the tavern, then he lost track of time as he shooed the militia members away to their homes. Mulligan returned, wavering on his feet from exhaustion. 

"The damned fool went right back in to get that gun I had laid down, as if it was a summer picnic and not a barrage of cannon fire." He shook his head. "He said to go home, he'll meet us there." 

By the time they returned to the Mulligan house it was the small hours of the morning, and still there was no sign of Hamilton. 

"He'll be back, he's just checking on his troops," Mulligan muttered tiredly, and waved Laurens off to bed with a tired squeeze on the shoulder. Laurens stumbled up to the room he and Hamilton usually shared when staying in this household, finding Hamilton's desk strewn with paper and pens as usual. A quick wipe with a wet cloth got the worst of the dust off of Laurens' face and arms, then he shed his trousers and shoes and crawled into bed. 

Despite being determined to stay awake until Hamilton was safely home, Laurens must have dozed off immediately. The next thing he was aware of was the creak of the bed, and then Hamilton's weight pressing on the pallet next to him. Hamilton was trying to be quiet, but Laurens reached out and pulled him close, running hands over shoulders and neck, down arms. At first it was a more exploratory sort of touch than a sensual one. Not that Laurens was opposed to moving on to sensual touch once he'd checked that Hamilton was whole, not at all. What had begun as an occasional fumble in the dark after a night of drinking or fighting had become a welcome habit of sharing a bed and their bodies with each other. It wasn't that Hamilton and Laurens ever talked about it, and if they had, what would they have said? But having Hamilton alone, and close enough to embrace, made Laurens thankful to have returned to town, and thankful that Hamilton had returned to the house. Now if he could just wake up, that would be much better.

"I'm well, John. Not a mark on me." Hamilton leaned close, still whispering. "I've no need for doctoring." 

"Amateur only, my dear. I switched to studying law," Laurens replied, smoothing down the fabric at the back of Hamilton's shirt. 

"And yet you examine me for wounds with the zeal of a personal physician. I am fine, I assure you, and not even tired," Hamilton threw an arm over Laurens' side, and leaned in to kiss him. His lips had a hint of rum on them, and his hair still smelled like black powder, and both smells awakened Laurens more, from brain to rapidly swelling cock and back. Laurens kissed back, only stopping his petting to pull Hamilton to his chest. Hamilton's hips bucked against him, making it clear that they were equally hard. Laurens reached down, bunching Hamilton's shirt up at his chest and undoing the collar before throwing it off over his head. 

They were still both damp with sweat from the heat of the night and from the evening’s exertion, skin slick against skin. On many summer nights it was too uncomfortable to be this close, but remembering the excitement of the night's adventure woke Laurens up further. They rubbed against each other, a hand cradling firm buttock here, a mouth tracing kisses and little bites down the line of a shoulder there. Soon Hamilton was gasping in Laurens' ear, eager to go faster, grind his cock harder against Laurens' body. It made Laurens grin, even as he suppressed a yawn. 

"Easy, my dear, _festina lente_ ," Laurens whispered in Hamilton's ear, hoping that his smile in the dark would be heard on his lips. He got a tickling poke in the ribs for an answer. 

"You mock my Latin?" Hamilton muttered, nipping at Laurens' jaw in the darkness. 

"I relish your Latin, among other things," Laurens responded, moving from groping Hamilton's ass to gripping both of their cocks. This elicited pleased groans from both of them. Then he had an idea. "But perhaps we should switch to an activity more beloved of the Greeks." 

"What?" 

Laurens shifted, closing his thighs around Hamilton's cock. 

"Oh. That." And Hamilton began to thrust again, enclosed by the soft skin of Laurens' thighs. Laurens moved to clutch hard at Hamilton's arse with both hands and concentrated on keeping his legs tightly together. Their skin made soft slapping sounds as they rocked together, and before too long Hamilton was sighing into Laurens' ear as he spilled over them both. Those sweet sounds caused Laurens' cock to throb in sympathetic response. Eventually they slowed to a stop. Hamilton took hold of Laurens with one of his delicate, dexterous hands, and brought him off to add to the slick mess between them. 

They lay in the bed for a while, panting. Laurens found himself shaking, and wondered how on Earth Hamilton managed to be awake even now. After a few minutes, Hamilton propped himself up, groped on the nearby table, and found a handkerchief with which to wipe them both up. By the time that was done, Laurens was getting drowsy again. 

"It's as if you're overwound clockwork," Laurens muttered, his voice slurred. 

Hamilton laughed in his ear, his chin against Laurens' shoulder. "Go to sleep, my dear. You'll laugh when I'm half dead in the morning." Drying sweat had cooled them off considerably, and it was easy for Laurens to drift back to sleep. 

*****

_To Alexander Hamilton, November 21, 1776_

_It is with a heavy heart that I write to admit how much materiel we abandoned in our rapid departure from Fort Lee a few days ago. You would have wept to see it: so many cannons and muskets left behind. I am glad you were not there to witness it, and I hope this letter will find you and your company well ahead of the British troops and in fine spirits. I arrived in Hackensack only hours after you left with your men, and I hope to follow you soon. Mulligan is so glad to have seen you, and is excited to pursue his new gentlemanly undertaking for us. He was unable to take take the time to write a letter, but he asks me to pass on his affectionate wishes and exhorts me to give you a kiss and an embrace for him when next we meet. I will be glad to give you that and more._

_My dear Hamilton, is this what you imagined Revolution would be like? I know that it should not be a surprise to anyone that British forces are more richly equipped than our troops, and I know you fought very hard for proper compensation for your company. Nevertheless, I confess I am discouraged by the failure of our Congress to fund even the most basic of needs, let alone some of our greater ambitions for winning a victory. I write to my father about our plans for black regiments, and he knows I am serious about bringing this idea to fruition. Yet he struggles to get Congress to provide longer contracts for the soldiers we already have, and for better pay with which our soldiers would keep themselves fed and clothed. I hope that you will have some words of optimism for me, and I look forward to our next meeting._

_Yours with great affection,  
J. Laurens_

*****

_To John Laurens, December 6, 1776_

_My dearest Laurens,_

_I wish that I could be in your presence, to cheer you with both words and warm embrace. I hope that we will see each other again soon as the Family gathers for the winter, and that we will be able to improve our morale together when our duties for the day are done. I am tired of sleeping in barns and eating mush, but my men are threadbare and the cannons are heavy as ever, and I must get everyone and everything to the winter encampment safely before I can rest. I look forward to your company, though I ask your forgiveness if it takes me a while to recover from the travails of this campaign._

_You ask after my expectations -- while I did expect the business of Revolution to be a dirty, anarchic one, I did hope for Congress to provide more support to our actions thus far. We must hope Lafayette's letters home to France may lead to some aid from that quarter, but it will take time for those arrangements to be made. He may even have to go back to France, which would take him away from helping our cause here._

_In the meantime, our actions matter a great deal. Every letter to a member of Congress may make the critical difference, and you are uniquely positioned, Laurens, to report the events to them while helping the campaign. I trust that, armed with the details you write, your father will do his utmost on our behalf. You are an eloquent writer on topics from the Revolutionary cause itself to the importance of abolition, and of course the combination of the two. It may take many letters for us to find help and solutions for these problems, but that is why we must cheer each other on and provide succor at the end of the day. I look forward to providing you that solace soon, my dearest friend and companion._

_Yours until we meet,  
A. Hamilton _

*****

Laurens had been in the tavern, downstairs from the headquarters rooms, since it was still light. He sat by the front windows, writing some of the General's correspondence and some of his own, as he watched night descend upon the Morristown green. The troops were camped outside of town to the southeast, and many officers were staying in rooms near the green. As darkness fell, Laurens could see the sexton of the Presbyterian Church walking past the courthouse on his way to evening rounds at the church. The church was home to many convalescing soldiers, and there had been funerals to bury the war dead every day from the time Washington's army had marched up from the south earlier that month. It was peaceful to watch night fall, a respite after a long summer and fall of war. Not everyone was so lucky as to be a part of Washington's staff and have a proper bed at the inn or with a family in town, rather than a moth-eaten blanket in a freezing hut in camp. 

The keeper brought a fresh candle to Laurens' table, and refilled his mug. Laurens nodded gratefully at the man. He went back to his writing, and was so engrossed by the work that he jumped when the heavy door of the tavern swung open and booted feet thumped on the boards. 

"John, look who we found in the snow!" Lafayette called across the room to him. Hamilton stumbled into the room, Mulligan behind him. Even at a distance Laurens could see how hollow Hamilton's face looked. It was strange to see him so quiet and worn, but Laurens knew that his friend had undoubtedly worked himself to the bone getting his men and their artillery delivered. His friends conveyed Hamilton to the table, while Laurens stood to clear the documents away. Hamilton slumped into a chair, and the keeper put a mug in his hand even as Lafayette was gesturing for a round. 

Hamilton took a long drink from his tankard and slumped again, his arms hanging limp over the sides of his chair. Only half listening to Lafayette and Mulligan's excited chatter, Laurens took the seat next to Hamilton, and took his hand where it hung down between the chairs. It was dim in the tavern, and no one who didn't understand would see. 

"I'm so glad to see you, Alexander," he said in a low voice. Hamilton turned to him, tiredness warring with want, in his eyes. Hamilton scooted his chair a little closer, glancing up at the wide gestures Mulligan was making as he told some story of the idiot Loyalists he'd been had to deal with back in Manhattan. He threw an arm around the back of Laurens' chair, and kept it there, as he finished his tankard, as hot dishes of stew were brought out, as they ordered another round. Laurens settled into the comforting and sorely missed embrace of his friend.

"And then, do you know what that fool did? He came back the next day, and asked for a different color of twist, and I had to take it all out and do it again in the new color! He wanted it right away, so I offered to let him wait. He got out his maps to show his lieutenant, and went over weeks of plans while I was re-sewing his buttonholes right there. They're fools, all of them," Mulligan finished, shaking his head. 

"Their foolishness is our good fortune, is it not?" Lafayette said, lifting his mug. 

"To British foolishness!" Laurens added in, feeling a sudden wave of gratefulness. Here they all were, around a table again, after months of running around three colonies. 

"To victory!" Mulligan chimed in. 

"To the Revolution!" Hamilton piped up, and they clanked their mugs together. Ale sloshed as they drank. They all laughed at the foam Lafayette licked from his lips. 

Stories and rounds of beer blurred together as the night wore on. Though he still looked tired, Hamilton became more animated. With very little prodding, he told the story of the day he'd pinned British troops down on the banks of the Raritan River with cannon fire, while the Americans dismantled the bridge across. They'd already heard it from those who were in Washington's company that day, and it had further cemented the General's admiration of Hamilton. Even in a retelling, Hamilton made it fascinating, and often funny. His description of a mad scramble for a box of grapeshot that went sliding toward a cliff edge and tumbling out of reach had them chuckling until they coughed. 

The candle burned low in its holder, and Mulligan got up and stretched his brawny arms. "Don't be tempted to stay up all night. I'm sure the General will keep you all very busy tomorrow." 

Lafayette stood as well, and came around the table to embrace each of them in turn, with a kiss to each one's cheek. "Yes, we have much business to discuss. The General will certainly want to speak to our Mister Hamilton. Laurens, can you make sure Alexander finds a bed?" 

"Yes, sir," Laurens said, putting his arm around Hamilton's shoulders. He took a candle and steered his tired friend up to the attic room he'd recently taken. Tiredness and drunkenness made Hamilton clumsy, but obedient. He sat on the bed and stared at his boots, and after a minute or so Laurens took pity on him, helping him with buttons and buckles until he was in just his shirt. 

"I've never seen you this tired," Laurens said. Hamilton's eyes were black pools in the dim light. 

"I don't think I've been this tired since I was sick as a child," Hamilton admitted. He hesitated. "Stay with me?" For a moment, Laurens could see the orphan child underneath the intelligent man.

"Of course, my dear, of course," Laurens soothed him, stroking his hair. "I'm here. You're in one piece, and you've done admirably. Sleep." Laurens finished undressing himself, and then helped Hamilton to slide into bed. 

As Laurens blew out the candle, he felt Hamilton's hand on his arse. "I can't promise I won't feel quite amorous once I've gotten some sleep," Hamilton mumbled. Laurens laughed as he climbed into the bed, cradling Hamilton's head on his arm and throwing the other over Hamilton's side. The man had gotten much thinner, during the fall. 

"My dear Alexander, I would expect nothing different. I'm so glad to have you back." He gave Hamilton a soft kiss. Laurens heard Hamilton's breathing even and his body relax, and soon both of them were asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes: I've commingled historical details from the summer of 1775, the summer of 1776, and the fall and winter of 1776/1777 for this story. I tried to use as much historical detail as I could while following the mashup of the war that the musical uses.
> 
> The author thanks caminante and tucuxi for betaing, and thelittlestbird for plot talk and encouragement, during this draft. It was Caminante who came up with the working title, "Steal A Cannon, Touch A Dick: The Very Secret Diary of Alexander Hamilton," which kept us all giggling for weeks. 
> 
> I used Chernow's "Alexander Hamilton," Massey's "John Laurens and the American Revolution," and the first two volumes of "The Papers of Alexander Hamilton" for some details and to get a feel for what their letters looked like. The chimney find is something that actually happened at a college near me: brickwork was being redone, and there was a crevice behind some bricks with interesting letters and artifacts!
> 
> More information about the historical cannon stealing incident can be found here: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/ist/?next=/people-places/hamilton-takes-command-74722445/
> 
> Quite a lot on the Revolutionary War happenings around Morristown can be found here: http://www.revolutionarywarnewjersey.com/new_jersey_revolutionary_war_sites/towns/morristown_nj_revolutionary_war_sites.htm
> 
> My running route when I lived in NJ used to take me down part of the north side of the area that was once the Lowantica Valley camp, and is now the Loantaka Brook Reservation. Sadly, I didn't appreciate the region's Revolutionary War history at the time.


End file.
